Capitulate
by Crimsonpheonix271
Summary: Capitulate – to give in to an argument, request, pressure, or something unavoidable. Sometimes John wonders why he follows along with all of Sherlock's antics but then he remembers.


_Disclaimer – I do not own Sherlock, it belongs to ACD and the BBC writers._

_Capitulate – to give in to an argument, request, pressure, or something unavoidable_

John watched Sherlock's coat swish as the detective ran off gleefully after another clue. This most recent case, obviously a murder and kidnapping, and a rather explosive one at that, had been going on for the last five days, and in that time Sherlock has received more injuries than John had seen in recent times. A bruise bloomed blue on the high cheekbones and a cut on the side of that normally pouting mouth – giving him great entertainment whenever Sherlock tried to sulk but was in too much pain to do it successfully which lead to more sulking and pouting and the vicious circle continued until Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms to display his displeasure with a straight face. John had quickly gone to make tea, chuckling under his breath merrily, which broke out into heaving laughter when the violin tore through the air with a screech to show its owners annoyance.

He also knew that under that billowing coat and tight shirt, small bruises littered Sherlock's ribs, making a patchwork of blues and yellows that were just as vivid and brightly coloured as when they found the missing child the day before, a girl of 12 years who had been kept in a wine cellar without food and had been very close to alcohol poisoning. She had been mentally unstable, non-coherent and had acted instinctively when Sherlock had tried to remove her from a tight crevice in the cellar stonework she had wedged herself into. John knew through medical research what the human body was capable off when it was acting on instinct, and had seen it often when he had been in the army, but that had been the first time he had seen a child act in the same way. If he had moved even the slightest bit slower, instead of two icy blue eyes that glinted with intelligence there would have been only one. The shocked look on Sherlock's face had been well worth the resulting black eye though.

The look Greg had given them, which said much about what he thought of their actions and supposed stupidity, was all they had needed to start giggling; luckily they had been hidden in the ambulance getting checked out and not in front of the remaining task force. The D.I. had let them go right after and had asked them to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day, which had set Sherlock into a huff again and ended with them barging into the Yard at 3am that morning. The Yarders horrified expressions had been amusing, considering they had been living on caffeine for the last few days and the last thing they had wanted to deal with was his flatmate acting like a five year old on a sugar high. Donovan had taken one look and had tried to curl up at her desk, and Anderson had walked straight out when he saw them. Greg had just sighed as he handed Sherlock any new information they had discovered in the last 12 hours.

John still wasn't completely sure how this had led to following Sherlock along the London subway. He felt for the reassuring weight on his hip and sighed happily when he found it. After meeting his flatmate, after Jeffery Hope, he had taken to carrying it everywhere. And it's been useful too.

Sherlock yelled up ahead, his voice echoing along the tunnel. He had found a door, a service door to their supposed culprit's hideout. At least this one was inventive. Their last case had found the suspect in her aunt's attic. Without the aunt knowing.

Sherlock had picked the lock, the door creaking open. Before it was completely open, he barged in and a gunshot resounded around him. The smell of metal rushed around John as his blood ran cold, sounding in his ears and he clicked of the safety. Sherlock was hurt.

He didn't have enough time to savour the expression on the shooters face as John's bullet buried deep in his ribcage. Even the seeping sense of satisfaction paled against the fear. Calling an ambulance, he rushed to his friend's side. Luckily it had just grazed his arm, and there was nothing fatal about the wound. Using Sherlock's scarf to stop the bleeding, wrapping it tightly around his arm and keeping pressure on it.

By the time the ambulance and Greg had arrived, there really hadn't been much more for them to do. The culprit was in need of immediate help and Sherlock was babbling about all the things that the kidnapper had done wrong and how they were all so stupid to have taken so long to work out whom the suspect was.

Sighing, John leaned over quietened Sherlock with his own mouth. Some things were unavoidable, like the fact that Sherlock will always get himself into trouble and John will always have to get him out of it. But that was his life and he wouldn't change it for anything, though he would like to avoid going to an early grave.


End file.
